


Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the Village

by thelivingautomaton



Category: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard, The Prisoner (1967)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelivingautomaton/pseuds/thelivingautomaton
Summary: “Rosencrantz (hereafter ‘ROS’) wears a pin emblazoned with a pennyfarthing bicycle and the numeral ‘3’; Guildenstern (hereafter ‘GUIL’) has the same, only with a numeral ‘4’ instead. From their posture, it is apparent that they have only just arrived.”
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the Village

**Author's Note:**

> The obscure crossover that nobody asked for! 
> 
> I watched all of _The Prisoner_ in about a week and loved it, deeply and madly. A number of its more surreal/allegorical elements, as well as the general absurdist vibe and snappy dialogue, reminded me a great deal of my favorite play, _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_. So here we are.
> 
> PS: if you've never seen or heard of _The Prisoner_ , you might want to watch [its opening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0rio3IPXXU) to get a brief overview of the show's conceit.

_Two ex-ELIZABETHANS stand on a stone boat, in a place with the vague character of the sea -- distant waves lapping, a suggestion of an ocean breeze. They are well-dressed: identical striped shirts under identical multi-colored cloaks, which look a bit like umbrella canopies. Rosencrantz (hereafter ‘ROS’) wears a pin emblazoned with a pennyfarthing bicycle and the numeral ‘3’; Guildenstern (hereafter ‘GUIL’) has the same, only with a numeral ‘4’ instead. From their posture, it is apparent that they have only just arrived._

GUIL ( _a completion_ ): -- don’t. 

ROS: Don’t what?

GUIL: Don’t start. Where are we?

ROS ( _l_ _ooks down_ ): A boat. 

GUIL: Not the one from before.

ROS: No. This one doesn’t sail. Are we dead?

GUIL: Can’t be.

ROS: Pretty place to haunt, don’t you think?

GUIL: No. That’s what death _is_ : “can’t be.”

ROS: How do you know?

GUIL ( _changing the subject_ ): How did we get here?

ROS: Where are we?

GUIL ( _a sudden, rising hope_ ): Could this be England?

ROS: Who can say?

GUIL ( _a little giddy_ ): Foul! No rhetoric. Love-one -- ( _He stops, noticing the pin on ROS’s chest._ ) Three?

ROS: Best of three?

GUIL: Are we still playing the game?

ROS: Have we ever stopped?

GUIL ( _waving him off, focused on the pin_ ): Stop.

ROS: Statement! One-all. 

GUIL ( _touches Ros’s pin_ ): Are you Three?

ROS ( _points to Guil’s pin_ ): Are you Four?

GUIL ( _l_ _ooks down; then, absently_ ): Foul -- no repetition. One-two.

ROS: How was that repetition?

GUIL: How are the numbers different from one another?

ROS: Who is Number One?

GUIL: Who are _you_?

ROS: Was that rhetoric?

GUIL: No --

ROS ( _triumphant_ ): Statement again! Two-all, game point.

GUIL: What happened after we got off the boat?

ROS: Aren’t we still on a boat?

GUIL: Did we escape?

ROS ( _looks up_ ): Don’t you think it’s the same sky?

GUIL: Where are we?

_ROS opens his mouth to reply, but an off-stage voice interrupts --_

MALE VOICE: In the Village. You must be new here, otherwise you’d already know.

_A man enters the stage and crosses to meet ROS and GUIL, self-assuredly. He has a black jacket with white piping, light-colored khakis, and dark tennis shoes. Unlike ROS and GUIL, he does not wear a number, but be assured: this is NUMBER SIX (hereafter ‘SIX’)._

SIX: I didn’t see you on the path down. How’d you get here?

ROS: Well, we _were_ on a boat, and then we weren’t, and now we’re -- here.

SIX ( _wry_ ): You’re still on a boat. Hoping to sail back?

GUIL: This one doesn’t sail. ( _With a quiet finality_ ) And we’re not going back.

SIX: Only just arrived and they’ve convinced you already? My, the warders are raising their game. 

GUIL ( _simultaneous with ROS_ ): Is this a prison?

ROS ( _simultaneous with GUIL_ ): Could this be England?

SIX: Are you asking me whose side the Village belongs to? ( _Looking around, as if speaking to a wider audience_ ) I’d pay a pretty penny to know the answer to that, myself.

ROS ( _automatic_ ): Answers are a prison for oneself --

GUIL ( _coda_ ): -- and questions are a burden to others.

_Silence. An abrupt, new tension radiates from SIX._

SIX ( _suspicious, searching_ ): You know each other. Who are you?

ROS: Of course! We’re Guildenstern and Rosencrantz.

_SIX laughs, like this is the funniest joke he’s heard in quite awhile._

SIX: I’ll have to commend Number Two -- that’s not one I’ve heard yet. No. Who are you?

_ROS frowns, a little hurt. GUIL steps to his defense._

GUIL: If that’s the game you’re playing, then we’re -- ( _He catches eye of ROS’s pin._ ) We’re Number Three and Number Four.

SIX ( _annoyed, sarcastic_ ): I can see that; and it’s _your_ game, not mine.

ROS ( _perking up_ ): What are the rules?

SIX ( _bitter_ ): I’d tell you, but they’re not written down. 

ROS: We could play a different game. We could play at questions.

SIX: Whatever happened to ‘questions are a burden to oneself’?

GUIL: Wouldn’t that be playing their game?

SIX: You won’t convince me that way -- I know you’re both with _them_.

ROS: Statement! One-love.

SIX ( _catching on, a rebellious edge to his voice_ ): Isn’t two-versus-one a little unfair, in this game?

_ROS and GUIL look from SIX to one another, then nod. They briefly confer, whispering inaudibly, before GUIL steps up._

GUIL: Shall we begin?

SIX: Whose serve is it?

GUIL: Who do you serve?

SIX: Why should I serve anyone? 

GUIL: Do you like being of service?

SIX: Wouldn’t you rather be free?

GUIL: Aren’t we free now?

SIX ( _a cynical laugh_ ): Where do you think we are?

GUIL: Is this a prison?

SIX: Are you warders?

GUIL: Are you a prisoner?

SIX: Are you a number?

GUIL: I’m Ros -- ( _He catches himself_ ) Guildenstern.

SIX: Statement -- one-all.

_GUIL steps back, and ROS comes forward._

ROS: What’s your number?

SIX: Why should I have one?

ROS: Why shouldn’t you want one?

SIX: What do you want?

ROS: What do you have?

SIX: Don’t you know?

ROS: What do you know?

SIX: Why do you all ask me that, when I’ve already given you the answer?

ROS: What’s the answer?

SIX: What was the question?

ROS: What do you know?

SIX ( _triumphant, rolling his r’s_ ): Foul! No recall, no repetition! Two-one. Game point, gentlemen.

_GUIL steps forward again as ROS falls behind._

GUIL ( _heartfelt, serious_ ): What is this place?

SIX: Haven’t I already answered that?

GUIL: How did we get here?

SIX: You can’t remember?

GUIL: Can’t you help us?

SIX: Can I trust you?

GUIL: Can you trust anyone?

SIX: What kind of question is that?

GUIL: Can we stop playing the game?

SIX: Which game?

GUIL: Whose side are we on?

ROS ( _breaking in_ ): Who _are_ we?

SIX ( _considers this, then_ ): You’re Rosencrantz and Guildenstern -- that’s better than numbers.

GUIL ( _a_ _sly smile_ ): Statement. Two-all.

SIX: I thought we weren’t playing --

_But he’s interrupted by a loud, roaring whistle, and from high above floats down a large, white weather balloon. It lands in the midst of the three and ripples, ominously._

GUIL ( _fearful_ ): What is _that_?

ROS ( _fascinated_ ): What _is_ that?

SIX ( _contemptuous_ ): That, gentlemen, is a watchdog. We’ve strayed too far from the plot, presumably, and it’s here to guide us home.

GUIL: Plot?

ROS: Home?

SIX: Figures of speech, both. ( _He glares balefully at the balloon_ ) This is not a home, and there are so many _plots_ here that you can’t help tripping over them wherever you walk.

_The balloon’s whistle rises an octave; a warning._

ROS: We’re being summoned.

SIX ( _suspicious again_ ): And how would you know that?

GUIL: We know the type.

_And indeed, the balloon bounces slightly away from them, then stops, as if waiting for them to follow. ROS and GUIL obediently step forward, but SIX stays still, watching the pair. The balloon edges back towards him, a low rumbling roar that gets louder as it approaches. The roar becomes deafening, drowning out the ocean; it is the ocean. ROS and GUIL cover their ears. SIX waits, motionless, until the balloon is almost at his shoes; then he takes one step forward, eyeing it wryly, followed by another. The balloon quivers, petulant, and bounces off-stage._ _SIX looks to GUIL and ROS._

SIX: Time for you fellows to meet the master of the house, I think.

ROS: Didn’t you say you don’t serve anyone?

SIX ( _a steely certainty_ ): I don’t. But watchdogs have a tendency to be over-protective; I don’t care to be bitten again. I’ll go with you.

GUIL: Strength in numbers?

SIX: No -- just to satisfy my own curiosity. 

_The three exit the stage, in the same direction as the balloon. The lights dim, go out. After a time, they rise again, slowly, to reveal ROS, GUIL, and SIX standing before a round semicircle-shaped desk, on which sit three phones: red, yellow, and green. A BUTLER enters, wheeling a cart with covered dishes of food until it rests between the three and the round desk. With a small flourish, the BUTLER uncovers the dishes, then departs in the direction from which he came. ROS reaches for the food, but SIX stops him._

SIX: I wouldn’t eat that, if I were you. Otherwise you’ll be trapped forever here, in the land of the fae.

GUIL: I don’t understand -- who are we here to meet?

SIX: Number Two. 

ROS: He’s the king of this place, then?

SIX ( _l_ _aughs darkly_ ): Oh, no. Everyone here is democratically elected, you see. Free and fair for all. 

ROS: Yes, but who _is_ he?

_As if on cue, a round, black chair slowly rises from the floor behind the desk. It swivels, and in it sits a familiar face: the PLAYER, wearing a similar outfit to SIX’s, only with a pennyfarthing pin that has a numeral ‘2’. He holds a striped umbrella, wears a black-white-yellow striped scarf, and he’s smiling as he leans forward._

PLAYER: Ah, Number Six, I’ve been expecting you! How kind of you to bring me Numbers Three and Four. ( _He winks_ ) They’re new here, you know.

GUIL ( _with venom_ ): You!

PLAYER ( _self-effacing_ ): Me.

_GUIL, vibrating with suppressed rage, lunges forward, arms outstretched, and is held back bodily by ROS. SIX looks on, interested at this development._

SIX: You know each other, I take it?

PLAYER: Only as much as I know you -- which is to say, we’re quite familiar.

SIX: We haven’t met.

PLAYER ( _sly_ ): Haven’t we?

GUIL ( _mostly settled, still furious_ ): What kind of game do you think you’re playing at?!

PLAYER: Why, the only game in town. This town, at any rate.

SIX ( _quiet_ ): Village.

PLAYER: Eh?

SIX: It’s a village. _The_ Village. Not a town.

PLAYER ( _winks again_ ): Quite right. You’re a quick study, and you’ve caught on -- we’re not supposed to be here.

SIX: ‘We’?

PLAYER ( _gestures to ROS and GUIL, then himself_ ): Us. These ( _he picks dismissively at his clothes_ ) are not the roles we are meant to play. _You_ , however, are exactly where you’re meant to be. And playing the part to perfection, I must say.

SIX ( _menacing_ ): I play no role here -- I am a free man.

_The PLAYER laughs uproariously._

ROS: Where are _we_ meant to be, if not here?

PLAYER: You know. 

ROS ( _plainly_ ): I don’t.

GUIL ( _icy_ ): I don’t.

PLAYER: Of course you do -- back where you belong, not this storybook-land. I’ll take you. ( _He stands, offers his hands to ROS and GUIL. The chair lowers back into the ground behind him with a whirr._ )

GUIL: We’re not going anywhere with you.

PLAYER: Oh? You’d rather stay in this place, playing questions for all eternity? ( _He pokes at a button behind the desk with the umbrella. A large screen in the backdrop switches on with a hum, and begins to play silent, looping footage of ROS and GUIL from earlier._ ) Yes...this _is_ a pretty place -- though if you’d been here longer, you would have found the blood soon enough. But we are not meant to haunt such places. It is written.

GUIL ( _hollow_ ): We’re already dead.

PLAYER: Ghosts of a different kind.

ROS: But I -- I don’t want to go back. Don’t make me go back. Anywhere’s better than -- running around inside a box, over and over, forever.

PLAYER ( _looks to SIX, some unreadable pity in his eyes_ ): Don’t be so sure.

SIX ( _derisive_ ): You can free them.

PLAYER: Believe me -- I wish I could.

SIX: Not in your almighty power, Number Two?

PLAYER: Not my role to play. ( _A beat_ ) Yours, perhaps.

SIX: How?

PLAYER: Do you like to bet?

GUIL ( _about to start flinging fists again_ ): Oh, don’t you start --

SIX ( _holds up a hand to GUIL; then, to the PLAYER_ ): If the game is good.

PLAYER ( _flips a coin to SIX, who manages to catch it in the air_ ): Heads, they come with me. Tails, they stay.

SIX: No. Coin flips can be rigged. ( _But he pockets the coin._ ) Questions. One game. You and me. Winner takes all.

PLAYER ( _scornful_ ): I can’t take _you_. There’s no place for you there.

SIX: There’s no place for me anywhere. That’s what I prefer. Now switch that damn footage off ( _he points to the screen_ ) and let’s play.

PLAYER: ( _He obligingly presses a button and shuts it off, then_ ) Am I to start?

SIX: Don’t you have a choice?

PLAYER: Do any of us?

SIX: Foul -- no rhetoric. Love-one.

_It is at this point that the lighting, which up till now has been fairly bright and white, begins to dim and slowly pulse through different colors: yellow, red, blue, green -- the same colors as are on ROS’s and GUIL’s cloaks._

PLAYER: What is your role?

SIX: Who’s writing it?

PLAYER: Who plays?

SIX: Is this a game to you?

PLAYER: Whose game?

SIX: Whose side are you on?

PLAYER: Does it make a difference?

SIX: Do you see a difference?

PLAYER: What is so different about you?

SIX: Why can’t I be different?

PLAYER: Why did you resign?

_As the speed of their questions increases, so too do the flashes of color quicken, ricocheting the company between blackness and dark neon that casts deep shadows, shrouding faces. In the moments of light, one can see that at this question, SIX’s posture stiffens, ramrod-straight._

SIX ( _through gritted teeth_ ): Why do you keep asking me that?

PLAYER: Why can’t you just tell us?

SIX: Who is ‘us’?

PLAYER ( _softly_ ): Repetition and synonym -- one-all. 

_The screen switches back on and replays the exchange between SIX and the PLAYER from earlier -- ‘“We?”’ ‘Us.’ -- over and over. The lights change in time with the words; it all has a very hypnotic effect._

SIX: Isn’t that cheating?

PLAYER: Isn’t the game rigged?

SIX: Who’s pulling the strings?

PLAYER: Is there just one puppet-master?

SIX: Who is Number One?

PLAYER ( _a little ominous, a little pitying_ ): Don’t you know that already?

SIX: What do I know?

PLAYER: Why did you resign?

SIX: A- _ha_ \-- repetition, two-one!

ROS and GUIL ( _simultaneous_ ): Why did you resign?

SIX: ( _He whirls around to face ROS and GUIL._ ) Why did you just say that?

PLAYER, ROS, and GUIL ( _all simultaneous_ ): Why did you resign?

SIX: What game are you playing at?!

_The lights flash faster and faster; the footage of SIX and the PLAYER begins to speed up; the voices of the PLAYER, ROS, and GUIL echo and tumble over one another, perfectly in-sync._

FOOTAGE: We -- us -- we -- us -- we -- us -- we -- us -- we -- us -- we -- us --

PLAYER, ROS, and GUIL: Why did you resign? Why did you resign? Why did you resign? Why did you resign? Why did you resign? Why did you resign? Why did you resign?

SIX: _ENOUGH!_

_He dashes forward and punches the PLAYER square in the jaw -- and the PLAYER’s head flies off. The lights come up quickly, cold-white and clear. ROS, GUIL, and the PLAYER have all been replaced with mannequins, dressed in their Village outfits. SIX looks about wildly. A spotlight reveals the PLAYER, with GUIL and ROS in tow, at the very downstage edge of stage-left. ROS and GUIL blink, confused._

PLAYER: Don’t be so upset, boy -- the game was rigged from the start! ( _He salutes with a thumb and forefinger_ ) Be seeing you!

_He takes ROS and GUIL by the hand and jumps backward; in the split second before they’re pulled off the stage, GUIL looks both furious and close to tears; ROS gives SIX a cheery wave. Then they’re gone, shrouded in the shadows beyond the edge of the stage. SIX starts to rush over to the spot where they were standing, but he stops when he hears a familiar whirr come from behind the desk. The round chair rises up once more, this time containing a woman. She wears the same outfit as the PLAYER, including a pennyfarthing pin with the red numeral ‘2’._

TWO: Ah, Number Six, I’ve been expecting you. ( _She stands, retrieves the PLAYER’s mannequin head, and deposits it gently on the mannequin’s body, patting it on the cheek affectionately._ )

SIX: What was that? What happened to them?

TWO ( _coy_ ): Who?

SIX: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

TWO ( _l_ _aughs_ ): You killed them, of course. ( _She pops off the mannequin head and tosses it to SIX, who catches it_ ) You’re our very own Hamlet, after all -- a tragic hero to the end.

SIX: ( _A beat, then he pointedly drops the head_ ) A flair for the theatrical, have we?

TWO: Only an enthusiasm for people playing the parts they’re meant to play.

SIX: And what’s your part in all this? Evil queen? The wolf pretending to be grandmother? What big teeth you have.

TWO: All the better to eat you up with, my dear.

SIX: You’ll find I’m a hard meal to stomach -- too lean and dry.

TWO: Like a rabbit, I suppose.

SIX: Yes. I’m _very_ good at running. 

_He starts walking away, flipping the coin in the air as he does so. Just before leaving, he turns back to TWO and salutes with his thumb and forefinger._

SIX ( _wry, but with a current of steely rebellion underneath_ ): Be seeing you.

_The lights dim and go dark, as SIX departs and TWO disappears back into the floor. In the background, the screen switches on one last time, depicting from behind two well-dressed ELIZABETHANS -- hats, cloaks, sticks and all -- passing time in a place without any visible character. One appears to be flipping coins._

**Author's Note:**

> It's a curious thing to try and marry a play (which is inherently textual) with a television show (which is inherently visual), especially when both mediums rely a great deal on the unique interpretations of the director and actors, and _especially_ when the output comes in the form of a fanfic that relies on the reader's imagination of the text. I tried my best to balance everything, though chances are this work has a lot more descriptive notes than a real play or television script ever would. Any and all cryptic elements are intentional ;)
> 
> If you haven't watched _The Prisoner_ , well, it's free online if you know where to look. But here's how the show depicted [the stone boat](https://www.billcotter.com/places/portmeirion/village-7.jpg), the [umbrella cloaks](https://www.portmeiriononline.co.uk/images/products/standard/96824e.jpg), [Six](https://hips.hearstapps.com/digitalspyuk.cdnds.net/16/36/1473077279-theprisoner4.jpg) and [Two's](https://www.denofgeek.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/the_prisoner_no_2.jpg) outfits, the [weather balloon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6Ffr1U7KMY) (aka "Rover"), the [Butler](https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F2h4td9KttQ/Va36UzCHCKI/AAAAAAAAbn4/vY6O3AnB2wk/s1600/PDVD_001.BMP), and [Two's chambers](https://www.bfi.org.uk/sites/bfi.org.uk/files/styles/full/public/image/prisoner-the-1967-68-004-patrick-mcgoohan.jpg?itok=ioBaoQZt). It would be wild to see those translated to the stage, though.
> 
> Anyways, I like this work a lot, and I hope you did too.


End file.
